


a future without you in it

by Spikedluv



Series: Dec 2017 Gift Fic [4]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fix-It, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 04:36:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12951429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: Other times Clint wished he could go back to a state where nothing mattered because it would be preferable to this, to facing a future without Phil Coulson in it.  Without Coulson’s steady presence beside him and calm voice in his ear, Clint felt more lost than he’d ever been.





	a future without you in it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cordeliadelayne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordeliadelayne/gifts).



> This story is one of my December Gift Fic and was written for Cordeliadelayne for the prompt _MCU, Clint/Coulson, lost_. 
> 
> Written: December 8, 2017

Clint had been lost while he was under Loki’s control. He’d had no sense of self, but he hadn’t needed one because the only thing that mattered to him was doing Loki’s bidding, no matter what that was. Sometimes Clint felt weak because he’d allowed that to happen, though everyone he talked to about it (Natasha and Dr. Emily Markell, his SHIELD-mandated therapist) assured him that what had happened to him wasn’t his fault, that it didn’t make him weak that a god using a mystical weapon had been able to turn him into a puppet.

Other times Clint wished he could go back to a state where nothing mattered because it would be preferable to this, to facing a future without Phil Coulson in it. Without Coulson’s steady presence beside him and calm voice in his ear, Clint felt more lost than he’d ever been. (And he’d been left behind by everyone who’d ever mattered to him, so that was saying something.)

Loki had said, “You’ve got heart,” and then he’d stolen Clint’s.

It had been a month since the Battle of New York. Clint only knew this because he was marking off the days of forced therapy sessions, counting down the days until he was cleared for field duty. In the meantime, Clint had been helping with clean-up efforts. He’d figured that he was the least recognizable Avenger, and the people out there in the trenches didn’t care who you were as long as you pulled your weight.

Clint was strong and he had a lot to atone for, more that he wanted to forget, so he worked hard for hours until he could barely stand. He only stopped when he had an appointment with Dr. Markell or when he looked so bad they sent him home to get some rest. Sometimes he didn’t even stop then, just moved to a different area and kept working. At least until Dr. Markell commented that he could hurt himself if he did that, or worse, to Clint’s estimation, someone else.

A couple days into the clean-up Clint found a dog buried in the rubble. He was alive, but severely dehydrated and his leg had been broken. For the first time since he’d been taken by Loki and they’d fought off a bunch of aliens and he’d found out that Loki had killed Coulson, Clint felt something. He took charge of the dog, delivering him to the nearest vet and picking him up two days later when they said he could go home.

Clint’s days changed after that because he now had something other than himself to take care of. He went home a couple times during the day to walk the dog he’d started calling Lucky, and to make sure he had enough to eat and drink, and there were a few follow-up appointments with the vet. Tony offered to have someone look after Lucky if Clint brought him to the Tower, but Clint knew Tony was trying to get him to move into the Tower with Bruce and Steve, like they were some kind of Avengers collectible dolls.

Those two had had nowhere else to go after the battle, but Clint did. His apartment wasn’t as fancy as the Tower, but it was his. Besides, he didn’t want to be around other people. Natasha said he’d gone to ground and was licking his wounds, and even though he locked his door and windows, Clint knew she stopped by to check on him. Sometimes he woke from where he’d fallen asleep on the couch with a blanket pulled over him, and other times he came home to a container of soup from Coulson’s . . . from his favorite deli in the fridge.

Now that he had a furry companion, there were also stuffed toys with squeakers that drove Clint nuts when Lucky got going on it, and bones fresh from the butcher. At least that forced Clint to start picking up his apartment instead of letting the dirty clothes and dishes build up until Clint was buried in an avalanche of them like someone on ‘Hoarders’. You only stepped on a bone once with bare feet before you wanted to make sure it never happened again.

~*~

Now Clint marked off day number thirty with a shaking hand. Dr. Markell had asked Clint if he thought he was ready to go back out in the field and instead of the fervent yes Clint expected to come out of his mouth, he’d said, “No.”

Dr. Markell had nodded, but she’d looked pleased rather than surprised or upset.

“What?” Clint said.

“Is that the first time you’ve admitted to yourself that you’re not ready?” she said, answering Clint with another question, as she so often did.

“Yes,” Clint said. Getting back out into the field had been the light at the end of the therapy tunnel, but now that light felt more like a train bearing down on him.

Clint wondered if he’d ever be ready, if he could ever trust himself again. More importantly, he wondered what he’d do if he was no longer a SHIELD agent (assuming SHIELD let him go without trying to put a bullet in his head). Clint had been Hawkeye, for good or ill, for so many years; he didn’t know who he’d be without a bow in his hands.

Clint set the pen down and barked a humorless laugh. He hadn’t picked up his bow since the battle. _This_ was who he was without a bow in his hands. Instead of going back out to help with clean-up as he usually did after a therapy session, Clint hooked the leash to Lucky’s collar and they caught the bus to Manhattan. The hour long ride gave him plenty of time to think about his future. When they got off the bus at their stop, Clint still didn’t have any answers.

JARVIS greeted Clint when he stepped through the doors to the Tower and directed him to the elevator for the residential floors. Clint told JARVIS what he wanted and the elevator opened on the appropriate floor. He followed the grunts and ‘thwaps!’ to find Natasha and Steve sparring. Lucky barked excitedly when he saw Natasha, which would’ve given her away if Clint hadn’t already known about her forays into his apartment.

Nat and Steve released each other and stepped back. They were covered in sweat and breathing hard. Clint wondered how long they’d been at it because when he and Nat sparred, he was ready to tap out long before Nat broke a sweat.

“You’ve got a dog,” Steve said.

Clint unhooked Lucky from the leash and he ran over to Natasha. Lucky didn’t seem disappointed that Natasha only had pets for him, rather than more treats. It didn’t hurt that Steve gave him some pets, too.

“You here to spar?” Natasha said.

“Thought I’d see if my bow was here,” Clint said.

“It’s in the armory,” Natasha said.

“There’s an armory?”

“Tony went a little overboard,” Steve said. “JARVIS, you won’t tell him I said that, right?”

“My lips are sealed, Captain,” JARVIS said.

Clint couldn’t stop himself from smiling at that.

“And yet you’re living here,” Natasha teased Steve.

“Just until I find a place of my own,” Steve said.

“Mmm hmm,” Natasha said.

Steve ignored her. “Would you like me to show you where the armory and shooting range are?”

“I’ll wander around ‘til I find it,” Clint said. “Would one of you keep an eye on Lucky for me?”

“Sure,” Steve said at the same time Natasha said, “Of course.”

Steve looked at Natasha and backed off. “You can . . .”

“We’ll look after Lucky,” Natasha said. “Meet us in the kitchen when you’re done, Steve’s making lunch.”

“I am?” Steve said.

Clint tossed the leash to Natasha and left them to sort out lunch while he checked out the rest of the floor. There was a weight room and two locker rooms in addition to the armory and shooting range. Clint found his bow case and checked over the bow, arrows, and quiver. When he was satisfied he went looking for the shooting range.

Clint found the lane for his bow because Tony had painted a picture of a hawk on it. Clint shook his head as he put on the glove and arm guard. He filled the quiver and looped it over his shoulder. Clint held the bow in his hand and took a few breaths. He drew the first arrow and placed it to the string.

Clint lost himself in the repetitive motion of reaching for the arrow, nocking it, pulling back the string and releasing it. He shot until his arm and shoulder ached, which wasn’t as long as usual. He needed to get back into shape if he was ever going to get cleared for field duty.

With JARVIS’s help Clint found Natasha and Steve in the communal living room. The television was on in the background, but Natasha and Steve were playing catch with Lucky, which consisted of Lucky catching the braided rope toy Natasha had found somewhere and running away with Natasha and Steve in pursuit.

“There’s a plate in the fridge,” Steve said as he lunged for Lucky, but missed by too wide of a margin for it to be all Lucky’s doing. They must’ve figured out on their own that Lucky’s favorite game was ‘keep away’.

Clint found the plate – a huge tuna salad sandwich with lettuce and tomato – and dug through the cupboards for a glass. He poured milk into the glass and returned the milk to the fridge. “What’s this?” Clint said when he aw a ceramic bowl on the floor. There were paw prints and Lucky’s name printed on the side.

“It’s a dog bowl,” Natasha said.

“What’s it doing here?”

“Tony figured you wouldn’t move in without your dog,” Steve said.

Clint swallowed hard. “Tony did that?” He didn’t know why such a small gesture left him feeling overcome.

~*~

Clint continued to help with clean-up. Sometimes that meant filling dumpsters with rubble, or helping to put in a new plate glass window, or painting. His visits to Dr. Markell went from three times a week to two. Everyday Clint took Lucky to the tower so he could practice. Sometimes they ran into Tony. One time he called Lucky a mutt, but Clint also saw him sneak treats to Lucky so he didn’t let Tony’s sometimes acerbic nature bother him.

After a couple weeks of having dinner at the Tower after bow practice, Clint asked about his uniform.

“It’s been cleaned, mended, pressed, and is hanging in your locker,” Tony said.

Clint let the notion that Tony had his uniform cleaned, mended and pressed go and said, “I have a locker?”

There were lockers for each of them, and extra lockers for who knew who. Clint touched the lettering that spelled out ‘Hawkeye’, then opened the locker. His uniform and boots were inside, and both looked pristine. Clint reached out to touch the uniform, but pulled his hand back before he made contact.

Clint started to close the door, stopping when he noticed something sitting on the top shelf. He withdrew the small box and opened it. Nestled inside on a bed of cotton was the earbud he’d worn during the battle against the Chitauri. Clint didn’t know why it hadn’t been returned to SHIELD. For that matter, his uniform and bow should have been returned, as well.

Clint sat down heavily on the bench. He slowly reached for the earbud. Clint closed his eyes as he placed it in his ear. He didn’t know why he was doing this to himself. He wouldn’t hear Coulson’s voice in his ear. He’d never hear Coulson’s voice again.

Before he could second guess himself, Clint changed the channel to the private one he and Coulson had used when Coulson had wanted to talk to him without being overheard. There was silence. Of course there was. Clint choked back a sob and reached up to rip the earbud from his ear.

Clint’s hand paused when he heard something. At first he thought it was merely static, but the longer he listened the more obvious it became that there was a pattern to it. Dot dot dot, dash dash dash, dot dot dot. It took Clint longer than it should have to realize that it was Morse Code, and that it spelled out SOS.

“JARVIS,” Clint said. He spoke slowly, evenly. He didn’t want to get his hopes up. “Where’s Tony right now?”

Tony was still in the communal area. He was sitting on the floor with his back resting against one of the couches. Lucky lay across his lap, his eyes closed in ecstacy as Tony rubbed his ears. Tony looked up guiltily when Clint spoke his name.

“What’s up, Katniss?” Tony said, staring at Clint as if daring him to mention the dog draped over him.

“I need your help,” Clint said. He couldn’t even be bothered to file away Tony’s secret love of dogs for later because he was trying to keep his mind from proclaiming, “Coulson’s alive! Coulson’s alive!”

“You need my help?” Tony said, sounding surprised and pleased. “With what?”

Clint removed the earbud and held it out to Tony. He was reluctant to part with it, but that was the only way to find Coulson. If that’s who was on the other end. “I need you to track this signal.”

“Clint?” Natasha said.

Clint looked at Natasha, but he couldn’t say the words out loud in case they turned out to not be true. He clutched her hand when she moved close enough and he must’ve looked pretty bad because she let him.

Tony placed the earbud in his own ear and listened. “It sounds like static,” he said.

“There’s a pattern,” Clint said. To Natasha he said, “On our private channel.” He didn’t need to explain who ‘our’ was. Lucky, as if sensing Clint’s distress, leaned against his legs and whined. Clint absently petted Lucky’s head as he watched Tony’s face.

Tony’s eyes went wide when he figured out the pattern. He withdrew the earbud and turned towards the elevator. “I need the lab for this. JARVIS?”

“I’ll have everything ready for you, sir.”

Clint followed Tony, dragging Natasha with him. Lucky followed them, barking and dancing around as if he thought it was walk time. Steve looked torn between wanting to come with them and not knowing if his presence would be welcome. “Should I . . . ?”

“Come,” Natasha said. “If this is what Clint thinks it is we might need your help.”

“I don’t think it’s anything,” Clint muttered. He squeezed Natasha’s hand and she squeezed back.

Bruce looked up when the elevator opened outside the lab. “Where have you been?” he said when Tony rushed through the automatic doors. “I thought you were bringing back food.”

“I got distracted,” Tony said. “Merida has a mystery.”

“Who’s Merida?” Bruce said.

“Katniss,” Tony said absently as he plugged the earbud into some sort of port.

“Who’s Katniss?”

No one answered him because just then static came out of the speakers. Everyone listened, and Clint waited for them to confirm what he’d heard or tell him he was imagining things.

“Is that an SOS?” Steve said.

Tony tapped the side of his nose and pointed at Steve. He started typing on the keyboard that slid out of some recessed hiding spot.

“I know that one,” Steve said. “That means I was right.”

“Apparently someone is sending a message to Hawkeye,” Tony said. “And we’re going to find out where the signal is coming from. Hey, what are you doing in here?” he said when Lucky brushed against his leg seeking attention. “No dog hair in my very advanced computer system. DUM-E, brush.”

DUM-E rolled out of the shadows with a brush in one of it pincers hands. Upon a closer look, it was a brush attachment to it’s arm. The brush appeared to be hooked up to some sort of vacuum cleaner. DUM-E made his way to Lucky and attempted to brush him. Lucky thought it was a great game and tried to chew the brush each time DUM-E reached out with it.

Tony made a sound that indicated success. “Got a location,” he said, confirming Clint’s guess.

“Where is the signal coming from?” Natasha said. Thankfully, because Clint couldn’t speak around the lump in his throat.

“I think it’s time for full disclosure,” Tony said. “Who’s on the other end of that signal?”

Natasha hesitated. She glanced at Clint, and he nodded. “Coulson,” Nat said.

Tony sat up straight. Bruce looked confused. Steve said, “Agent Coulson is dead.”

“Did you see his body?” Clint said. He’d never asked these questions before because it had been too painful to think about, but now he had to. “Or talk to anyone who’d seen his body?”

“Director Fury told us that Loki killed Agent Coulson. He showed us Coulson’s blood-covered collectible cards,” Steve said.

“What?” Clint said. “Coulson never carried those cards on him.”

“Son of a bitch,” Tony swore. “Fury lied to us. I don’t know why I just said that like I’m actually surprised.”

“He needed us to be a team,” Steve said. He sounded like he understood Fury’s motivation, but he looked like he’d bitten into a lemon.

Tony typed madly and an image appeared in the middle of the room. It was a building that resembled a hospital. “The signal’s coming from here. It’s a long-term care and rehab center upstate.”

“Wait,” Bruce said. “Even if Fury lied, what makes you think this is Coulson?”

“The signal’s coming in on a private channel Coulson and I used when we were on missions,” Clint said. He stepped closer to the image and studied it. “Can you get a layout of the building?”

“Can I get a layout of the building,” Tony muttered. “Child’s play.”

~*~

They spent the rest of the afternoon going over the layout, marking exits, noting security, and pinpointing the wing the signal was coming from. They geared up just before the sun set so they’d have the cover of darkness. They didn’t wear their uniforms because they didn’t want to stand out if seen, so Clint had his collapsible bow under his jacket.

“If this is Agent Coulson there could be extra SHIELD personnel guarding him. Or this could be someone else entirely. Or a trap,” Steve said. “We need to be prepared for anything, and be careful.”

Clint clapped Steve on the shoulder. “Sure, Cap. Be prepared, be careful.” He headed for the elevator.

Steve sighed. “He’s not going to be careful, is he?”

Lucky tried to get on the elevator, but Clint told him he had to stay with Bruce and DUM-E. DUM-E raised his arm, which had teeth marks in the hard plastic brush attachment and dog slobber all over it. He emitted a long sorrowful beep that Clint did not think was the robot equivalent of ‘yay!’.

It was past visiting hours when they arrived at the facility, so Clint and Natasha went in via the roof while Steve and Tony stayed with the jet, waiting for the signal that their assistance was needed. Tony had given Clint a tracking device that would help them find the room they needed without opening every door and disturbing the other patients.

Clint stopped outside the room where the lights on the tracker started blinking rapidly. The name in the slot next to the door said _Grant Stevenson_. Clint gave Natasha a look that promised dire retribution for Nick Fury. He pocketed the device and carefully turned the knob.

Clint stood where he was when he opened the door far enough to see Phil Coulson lying in the hospital bed, apparently asleep. He was pale and frail looking, but he was alive. Natasha pushed Clint further into the room and shut the door behind them.

“Coulson,” Natasha said.

Coulson immediately opened his eyes and his posture changed when he saw them. “Barton,” Coulson said. Clint didn’t think he was imagining the relief in Coulson’s voice. “What took you so long? I was bored out of my mind in here.”

Tears stung the back of Clint’s eyes. “Sorry, sir.” He moved when Coulson threw back the blankets and looked like he was going to try to get up. “What are you doing?”

“Getting out of here,” Coulson said. “That’s why you’re here, right, to break me out?”

“Yes, but . . .”

“They wouldn’t tell me anything,” Coulson said. “Except that you were back. Though I wasn’t sure if Nick was lying just to shut me up. They even unhooked my TV,” Coulson went on quickly, as if he’d said too much. “Said I had to ‘concentrate on getting well’.”

Coulson squeezed Clint’s hand. Clint had reached out to stop Coulson from falling, and he didn’t know how long they’d been holding hands. “Clint, I’m glad they got you back.”

“Me, too, sir,” Clint said, even though it wasn’t very long ago that Clint had thought it might’ve been better if they’d killed him on the helicarrier so he didn’t have to live with the knowledge of what he’d done under Loki’s control and with the Coulson-shaped hole in his life. “Nat kicked me in the head. A couple times.”

“He just needed to be recalibrated,” Natasha said.

“I’m happy to hear it,” Coulson said. “Now how are we getting out of here?”

On the theory that there’d be less security if they went up than if they went down to the main entrance, Clint told Tony to meet them on the roof. Natasha went out into the corridor to commandeer transportation. They wrapped Coulson in a blanket and helped him into the wheelchair. The only thing he took with him was a pillow that he clutched to his chest.

They passed an unconscious SHIELD agent dressed as an orderly on the way to the elevator. He and Natasha hadn’t spotted the extra security on the way in, so he’d probably been on a bathroom break or raiding the vending machines. Fury wasn’t going to be happy that he’d left his post, but that’s what he got when he underestimated Phil Coulson. Speaking of.

“How’d you manage to get a signal out to us?” Clint said.

“They have computers in all the rooms for record-keeping,” Coulson said.

“Don’t you need a keycard to access those?” Natasha said.

Coulson raised one hand and wiggled his fingers. “My fingers don’t want to do everything I tell them to these days, but I can still pick a pocket.”

“Are those computers hooked to the internet?” Clint said. He liked hearing Coulson tell them how he’d outsmarted Fury and whoever else was holding him here, but he also just liked the sound of Coulson’s voice so he wanted to keep him talking.

“The one in my room is now,” Coulson said smugly.

Clint smiled and Natasha chuckled.

On the roof Coulson pushed himself out of the wheelchair. Clint helped him stand, but even so Coulson wobbled. Clint carefully picked him up. Coulson didn’t protest, but he did say, “Don’t think this changes our relationship, Barton.”

“Not this, sir,” Clint said.

Coulson gave Clint a considering look he pretended not to see. Clint put Coulson down and helped him buckle in.

“This was anti-climactic,” Tony said. “I didn’t even get to wear my suit.”

Steve gave Tony a look, but his tone was respectful when he said, “It’s good to see you again, Agent Coulson.” He turned towards the cockpit, then paused. “Sorry about your cards.”

“What happened to my cards?”

Tony’s eyes went comically wide and he smartly keep this mouth shut and hurried after Steve.

“I’ll just go keep an eye on those two,” Natasha said with very little subtlety, and went to sit up front with Steve and tony.

Clint sat beside Coulson. He closed his eyes so he didn’t stare creepily at Coulson. His chest felt tight and Clint had to take a few deep, shuddering breaths before they came easily. Things had moved quickly from the moment he’d heard the SOS signal over his comms and he’d had no time to think about what it meant. Now that they’d found Coulson and he was alive and safe, Clint was coming down from the adrenaline rush. He felt cut open, raw and vulnerable. This time when the tears stung the back of his eyes Clint couldn’t hold them back.

“Clint?” Coulson reached over and touched the back of Clint’s hand.

Clint turned his hand over and clung to Coulson’s as if it was the only thing keeping his head above water. He swiped at his eyes with his other hand. “Sorry, sir.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Coulson said. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

Clint turned his head so quickly he felt something in his neck pop. “What’s wrong? I spent the last six weeks believing you were dead and knowing I . . .”

“What?” Coulson snapped, bringing Cling up short. “You thought I was dead?”

Clint swallowed hard. He’d only seen that look on Coulson’s face a handful of times and it hadn’t boded well for the recipient. Clint nodded.

“Nick didn’t tell you I was alive?”

“He’s the one who told us you were dead,” Tony piped in from the front of the jet.

“Nick and I are going to have words,” Coulson said, his tone dangerously low.

“I’m sure he’ll start looking for you at the Tower the moment he gets word that you’ve flown the coop,” Tony said. “Get it, Hawkeye, coop.”

“That was one of your worst puns, and that’s saying a lot,” Natasha said.

Coulson visibly got himself under control. “Please tell me what’s been going on in the world, Clint.”

Clint tried to not read too much into the fact that they were still holding hands, Coulson clinging just as tightly as Clint was. He told Coulson about the mess left in the wake of the Chitauri attack and how he, all of them, had been helping with the clean up.

“Clint was adopted by a dog,” Natasha said.

Coulson raised his eyebrows and Clint told him about finding Lucky. When Coulson asked about SHIELD operations, Clint told him he’d have to speak to Natasha about that. Or Steve, or Maria, or Sitwell. Pretty much anyone who wasn’t him.

“Have you been suspended?” Coulson said, sounding angry.

Clint shook his head. “Mandatory therapy.”

“Because of what Loki did to you?”

“And because of what I did,” Clint said. “And the fact that I thought you were dead.”

“Okay, we’re here,” Steve said as he landed the jet on the helipad.

“Dr. Cho is going to meet us in the med bay. Can you guys get Agent there? I need to tell Pepper about this before she hears about it from someone else.”

“Got it,” Clint said. He reluctantly released Coulson’s hand so he could unbuckled himself and reached for Coulson’s straps.

“JARVIS,” Tony said as he strode down the ramp.

“Yes, sir?”

“Triple-check security in case SHIELD tries to break in.”

“My pleasure, sir. Welcome back, Agent Coulson.”

“Thank you, JARVIS,” Coulson said. To Clint he said, “You’re not carrying me out of here.”

“Understood, sir.” Clint helped Coulson to his feet and put an arm around his back. Coulson leaned against Clint and held his other hand for support. If he took more of Coulson’s weight, no one had to know.

“I know what you’re doing, Barton.”

Except, apparently, for Coulson. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.”

~*~

After a thorough exam and several tests, Coulson was ensconced in the apartment that had been set aside for Clint’s use. Pepper had popped into medical to give Coulson a careful hug and a teary promise to catch up later. Everyone else was in the communal area and Natasha had taken Lucky so he wouldn’t jump on Coulson.

Clint looked around the bedroom, anywhere but at Coulson who was tucked into ‘Clint’s’ bed. “This place is actually pretty nice.”

“Clint,” Coulson said. “Come sit down, please. It makes my neck hurt to look up at you.”

Clint sat gingerly on the edge of the bed so he didn’t jar Coulson. He kicked off his shoes and put his feet up. Coulson relaxed into the pillows and closed his eyes.

“Do you want me to leave you alone so you can rest?”

Coulson shook his head. “Peace and quiet is overrated.”

Clint got choked up at the thought of Coulson alone in the hospital and then the long-term care facility. “I’m gonna remind you that you said that,” he teased, trying not to give into his emotions. “I would’ve been there everyday if I’d known.”

“I know.” Coulson slid his hand closer to Clint.

Clint stared at Coulson’s hand for a few beats. He rolled onto his side and reached for Coulson’s hand. Clint pressed Coulson’s hand to his chest and closed his eyes. Coulson sighed. “Talk to me, Barton.”

Clint told Coulson about Nat sneaking into his apartment to check on him and to leave toys and treats for Lucky, and about Tony buying Lucky a dish and making a brush attachment for DUM-E. Soon Coulson’s breaths evened out and, exhausted from his escape, he fell asleep. Clint closed his eyes and followed him under.

~*~

Clint woke to the sound of Lucky’s nails on the floor. “Don’t jump on the bed,” Clint said, eyes still closed, too comfortable to move from his position cuddled up to Coulson. Clint’s eyelids shot open.

“I’ve got him on a leash,” Natasha said. “He was getting antsy to see you.”

Clint took the excuse to roll away from Coulson, who looked wide awake and still hadn’t pulled away from Clint, and sat up. Clint rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “Did you take him out?”

Clint knew from personal experience that an antsy Lucky sometimes meant he had to go. Badly. Lucky nosed at Clint’s leg and Clint dropped his hand to rub his ears.

“Yes. We brought breakfast,” Natasha said. “I didn’t think you’d want to brave the communal kitchen yet.”

“I’m starving,” Coulson said. His voice was a deep sleepy rasp and he sounded surprised. “I didn’t have much of an appetite in that place,” he admitted when Clint and Natasha both looked at him.

“Want me to bring it in here?” Natasha offered.

“No,” Coulson said. “I’m sick of eating in bed. Besides, I need to . . .”

“Stay right there,” Natasha ordered. She tossed the end of Lucky’s leash to Clint and strode out of the room. She returned a moment later with a walker.

“What’s that?” Coulson said.

“A walker,” Natasha said. “Just until your doctor says you can graduate to a cane. Tony ordered it with all the bells and whistles.”

“It does look pretty fancy,” Clint said. It had a padded seat with storage beneath and a basket with a cover that doubled as a tray.

Coulson snorted. “What would you do if someone said you had to use it?”

“Probably toss it out the window,” Clint admitted. “But this is one of those times where ‘do as I say, not as I do’ applies.”

With use of the pillow held tightly to his chest Coulson got out of bed. He was winded from the effort and leaned heavily on the walker. Clint left Natasha to assist Coulson and went out to the living area. He used the kitchen sink to splash water on his face and poured a cup of coffee from the carafe sitting on the counter.

Clint lifted the cover off the tray to reveal steaming omelets and toast. He stole a triangle of toast and munched on it. Clint gave the last corner to Lucky and watched Coulson make his careful way out of the bedroom.

“Couch or table, sir?”

Coulson took a moment to consider and decided on the table. Clint carried over the plates and flatware. He automatically started to pour a second cup of coffee, then hesitated. “Can you have coffee?”

Coulson glared at Clint. “You’ll give me a cup of coffee if you know what’s good for you, Barton.”

Clint ducked his head to hide his smile and poured the cup of coffee. “Nat?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

Clint glanced over at Lucky, who’d had his nose in the air to better sniff the food sitting on the table, but who was now studying Coulson. “That’s Phil,” Clint said. “He’s a friend.”

Lucky waited until Coulson had levered himself into the chair before trotting over and resting his muzzle on Coulson’s leg. Without looking Clint knew the expression on Lucky’s face, those big brown eyes begging for attention.

Clint set the cup of coffee in front of Coulson and sat across from him. Natasha moved the walker out of the way and took the chair between them. Clint dug into his food, not realizing how little appetite he’d had until it was back. Guilt and missing Coulson had wreaked havoc on him in more ways than he’d realized.

Clint leaned back in his chair and sipped the coffee that had cooled to a drinkable temperature. He caught Coulson red-handed as he offered Lucky a piece of ham from the omelet. “Be careful, sir,” Clint said. “You feed him, he might follow you home.”

Coulson met Clint’s gaze. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

Clint’s cheeks went hot, but he was more interested in the pink visible at the tips of Coulson’s ears when he ducked his head to resume eating. He glanced at Natasha, who just shook her head and gave him a look.

Clint ignored the look like he’d done every other time. Or tried to. Previously he’d thought his feelings for Coulson had only gone one way, but now he wondered if that assumption had been incorrect. Coulson seemed more approachable now. Not that he hadn’t been approachable before, or that Clint hadn’t thought of them as friends as well as colleagues, but that final barrier that had kept Clint from getting too close was gone.

Coulson seemed softer, somehow. Unless it was the drugs. “Are you on drugs?”

Natasha choked back a laugh.

Coulson raised an eyebrow. “No, Clint, I’m not on drugs. I cut back on the pain meds at the . . . place upstate because I needed a clear head to get out of there, and the pills Dr. Cho gave me last night were merely to help ease the discomfort of moving around so much. She knew I didn’t want to be incapacitated.”

“Okay,” Clint said, embarrassed because of where his thoughts had led him. “I need a shower.” He hated the idea of leaving Coulson even long enough to return to his apartment to shower and change into clean clothes. When he mentioned it to Natasha, she got a strange look on her face. “What?”

“Tony said he’d take care of getting some stuff from your place.”

“What did he do?”

“I told him you just needed some clothes and toiletries.”

“Nat.”

Natasha pointed to the front door. Clint walked over and opened it. Instead of packing a bag for him, Tony had moved Clint’s entire dresser over. There was also a box of DVDs and games, and another box full of Lucky’s toys, treats, and food. Lucky stuck his nose in his box and withdrew a stuffed purple dragon and carried it back inside.

“What the hell?” Clint said.

“I think he was hoping you’d have incentive to stay now.”

Clint’s cheeks heated. “Nat.”

Natasha shook her head. “Go take a shower, Clint.”

Taking the cowardly way out Clint grabbed some clothes out of the dresser and hid in the bathroom. When he came out the dresser had been moved into the bedroom. In the living room Coulson was sitting in a corner of the couch. Lucky spread out on the remainder, happily chewing on the dragon’s tail, occasionally gnawing on the squeaker.

Clint glanced at the television where an episode of ‘Dog Cops’ was playing. He dropped his gaze and noted that his DVDs and games were now neatly stacked on the TV stand. Lucky’s treats and food had been unloaded onto the counter and a bowl of water sat on a mat on the floor at the end of it. The plastic container Clint had used as Lucky’s toy box had been replaced with a wooden box with actual scrollwork and Lucky’s name engraved in it.

Clint shook his head and caught Coulson’s amused look. “Tony’s been trying to get me to move in since . . .” Clint broke off and swallowed hard. “He’s like a mother hen, gathering his chicks to him.”

“Clint,” Coulson said, all amusement gone. “Come sit. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

Clint gave a humorless laugh. “Me?”

“Have you been taking care of yourself?”

Clint opened his mouth to argue, but he realized Coulson was right. The only reason he’d stopped working himself to exhaustion everyday so he could fall into bed and sleep without dreaming was because of Lucky. “I’ve been taking care of Lucky.”

“While I appreciate that, it’s not the same thing.”

“Lucky and Nat have been taking care of me.”

“I’ll have to thank them. Now, come sit down.”

Clint displaced Lucky. Coulson gestured for Clint to lay down. He did, his head resting on Coulson’s leg.

“Now go to sleep, Clint.”

“I just woke up.”

“Don’t argue,” Coulson said gently. “Get some rest. That’s an order, Barton,” he added in that same gentle tone.

Clint closed his eyes. He bit back a moan when Coulson’s fingers began to tenderly come through Clint’s hair. With his head resting in Coulson’s lap and his eyes closed, Clint felt brave. He reached up and caught Coulson’s hand, brought it down and pressed it to his chest.

Coulson sucked in a breath, but he didn’t speak. He raised his other hand to Clint’s head. On the floor below him Lucky snuffled, already asleep. Clint fell asleep to the feel of Coulson’s fingers stroking his head, and his thumb rubbing Clint’s sternum.

~*~

“I’d like a bath,” Coulson said when Clint asked if he needed anything.

Natasha and Steve had taken Lucky for a walk so the two of them were alone after a short visit from Pepper where she’d gamely battled back tears, at least until she’d closed the door behind her.

“Um,” Clint said. His entire body broke out into a sweat at the thought of Coulson naked. He sternly reminded himself that Coulson had been badly injured. “Okay.” He could do this.

He couldn’t do this.

Clint helped Coulson out of the pajamas he’d worn home from the facility and lowered him into the warm water. He soaped up the washcloth and let Coulson wash as much as he could reach. His stamina ran out quickly and Clint took the cloth from him. He soaped it up again and dragged it gently over Coulson’s shoulders and down his back. Clint was especially careful when he ran the cloth over the scar in the middle of Coulson’s back.

“Clint,” Coulson said. From the worried tone he’d said it more than once.

“Sorry,” Clint said, coming back from wherever he’d gone at the sight of the scar.

“Are you alright?”

Clint touched the matching scar on Coulson’s chest. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

Coulson laid his hand over Clint’s. “I’m sorry you ever thought I was.”

~*~

Coulson was back in his spot on the couch, wearing a pair of Clint’s sweat pants and a button-down flannel that was easier to get in and out of than a t-shirt, when Natasha returned with Lucky. Lucky danced around Clint and then went over to gently lay his head on Coulson’s leg for more pets. He closed his eyes in bliss as his entire back end wiggled.

Steve came in to say hi and see how Coulson was doing. While he was there JARVIS’s voice broke in to let them know that Nick Fury was asking to see Coulson.

“Mr. Stark said I should turn him away if that was your wish, Agent Coulson,” JARVIS said.

“Send him up,” Coulson said, steel in his voice.

“Are you sure?” Clint said.

“I would very much like to speak with Nick,” Coulson said in a tone that didn’t bode well for Fury.

“Don’t overtax yourself,” Clint cautioned.

JARVIS confirmed and then fell silent. A moment later the door opened. Clint deflated when it was merely Tony.

“The gang’s all here,” Tony said. “Except for Banner, but he doesn’t think it’s a good idea to be here for this confrontation.”

“Probably a good idea,” Steve agreed.

“I mean, I just redecorated,” Tony said. “Pepper would kill me.” After a beat of complete silence, Tony said, “I mean . . .”

“I know what you meant, Mr. Stark,” Coulson said.

Before anyone could say more, JARVIS announced Director Fury. Nick strode into the apartment as if he owned it. He looked around at each of them in turn, stopping with Coulson.

“Imagine my surprise when I got a call last night that my best agent had been kidnapped from his hospital room.”

“It’s not kidnapping if you’re eager to leave,” Coulson said tartly.

“Hmm,” Fury said. He turned his piercing gaze onto Clint. “Took you long enough to find that signal.”

“I’m not in the field,” Clint said. “I don’t wear comms for fun.”

Fury made another sound.

“Wait, how’d you know about the signal?” Coulson said.

“You think we weren’t monitoring for something like that?”

“You wanted me to escape?” Coulson said.

Fury ignored the question. “What I want to know is when you’re going to be back in the field, Barton?”

“We’re keeping him,” Tony announced. “Both of them, actually. For the Avengers Initiative.”

“Barton doesn’t have superpowers.”

“Neither do I,” Tony said. “Unless you count my genius, which is probably a superpower.”

Steve snorted, but didn’t speak.

“And Coulson?”

“We’ll need some kind of wrangler who can liaise with SHIELD,” Tony said. “Agent would be perfect.”

Fury gave them all another look. “I’ll think about it.”

“There’s nothing to think about,” Tony said. “It’s a done deal.”

“Barton, Coulson, do either of you have anything to add?”

“Not at this time,” Coulson said.

“I’m good,” Clint said. He hadn’t had time to think about this, but maybe there was a reason he hadn’t been ready to go back into the field with SHIELD, aside from not trusting himself.

“Well then, I’ll get the paperwork started.” Fury swept out of the room, leaving them in stunned silence.

Steve was the first to speak. “I think we just got played. Again.”

The others stayed for a few minutes, talking about what had just happened. Clint shooed them out when Coulson started to droop. Clint tried to get Coulson to lie on the bed, but he wanted to stay in the living room because Clint and Lucky were there.

“We could come in with you,” Clint offered, thinking about Coulson alone in that hospital room, wondering why no one had come to visit him. “I’m sorry we didn’t find you sooner.”

Coulson waved off the concern. “I should’ve realized you might not be back in the field yet. I should’ve stolen a cell phone instead of a swipe card and just called you.”

“Hoisted on your own petard by your own cleverness,” Clint said

Coulson laughed and grabbed his chest. Clint handed him the pillow and Coulson clutched it to his chest. “Damn incision.”

Clint stroked Coulson’s shoulders.

“Sit here with me,” Coulson said.

Clint sat and scooted closer at Coulson’s gesture. Coulson pushed at Clint’s arm, so he raised it out of the way. Coulson leaned into him and Clint draped his arm across Coulson’s shoulders. He breathed a few times before attempting to speak. “What are we doing, sir?”

“I’d like it if you called me Phil, Clint.”

“Okay. What are we doing, Phil?”

Clint felt Coul–, Phil’s smile. “I had some very good reasons for keeping some distance between us,” Phil said. “For not pursuing the connection we had.”

Clint made a sound to let Phil know he was listening. He couldn’t form words past the lump in his throat at what he thought Phil might be saying.

“Those reasons didn’t seem very important when I lost you.”

Clint squeezed Phil, rested his face against the top of Phil’s head. He knew exactly how that felt. “I missed the hell out of you, Phil.”

Phil dropped the pillow. He took Clint’s free hand and pressed it to his chest. “Me, too.”

Lucky jumped up onto the couch beside Clint, circled the cushion three times before dropping with a thump.

There was rehab and more therapy in their future. Clean-up and rebuilding. Decisions regarding SHIELD for both of them. Lucky and Natasha and Steve and Tony had done their part to keep Clint going day to day, but now he could actually see the future spread out in front of him. A future with Phil in it.

The End


End file.
